


The Knight With The Stone

by TerresDeBrume



Series: Of gems, and the people who own them [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assassins and Knights don’t have any interest for each others. It is known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Knight With The Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the anon who wanted Loki spying on Tony. I’m sorry Nonnie, this one turned out more longing than voyeurism, but there are still mentions of masturbation, so it’s halfway there, I suppose ;)  
> (Also, I’m afraid my Game of Thrones is slightly showing.)

A few of them are known throughout the realm.

There is Préost Grimm, the Knight of Stone, and the red rocks he uses to protect himself in combat. There is Préost Thor, the Knight of Thunder, and the hammer that makes its cry know across entire battlefields. Préost Erik, the Knight of Metal, who forges the best sword the world has ever seen.

 

And, of course, there is Préost Anton, the Knight with the Stone, the would-be Knight of Iron.

He did try to chose his own name like his fellow ordinates, as was his right, but this hope was lost to him the second the squires saw the blue stone carved into his chest, the spell the only thing to keep him alive.

But the stone isn’t what made his name famous, what carried it beyond the wall of their ancient order of knight and assassins. No, what did this is that when the time came for him to be gifted with a mount, it wasn’t of the black horses that chose him, nor a griffin or a raven, but the black dragon himself, fire-spitting serpent whose body goes for half a mile, and one who hadn’t carried a Knight since the very first one died, centuries ago.

 

Préost Anton is different of all the other Knights, because he has a magic stone in his chest, because his mount is one that hasn’t been used in nearly a full millennium, because he is Knight who doesn’t hesitate to use tricks when needed. He is, however, similar to them in that he had to be paired with his very own assassin, and not the least of them.

Assassins don’t have titles. Their names don’t come out of the order, they are to be forgotten and never used under pain of death, but sometimes, some of them get a nickname. There is The One With the Mask, whose face was never seen, and The Spider of Metal, whose whips are made of chains and never whistle unless he aims to make your death a slow and painful one. And then, there is The One In-Between.

He is the one and only Assassin who will give his victims a fair chance to fight, the one whose face still smiles, the one whose fingers sometimes shines with magic unused, the one whose name still floats in the memories of men inside their mountains. He is also the one who was chosen by the white dragon, and therefore the one Préost Anton must work with, when he next comes out into the world.

 

 

The One In-Between knows what people say about him. He is not to be trusted, he is not to be believed. He knows Préost Thor has stopped trying to fight the rumors, and he knows Préost Anton is surrounded by men who make sure he remains unhappy about the brother the dragons have chosen for him.

Knights don’t talk to their Assassins, it is known. They carry out the missions that have been set out for them without a word, and they go to their grave together, but without knowing anything about each other, save perhaps their respective designation, when they exist.

Knights and Assassins, have no interest in each other, because they have entirely different set of moral values, because the ones are honorable and the others do what has to be done.

 

It is known.

 

Yet, the Assassin In-Between has never been one to do what he was supposed to. Even before he joined the order, when he was but a boy, third son of a landless lord in the far north of the kingdom, where there is only ice and snow is a warming thought, even _then_ he never conformed to the rules.

Is it that surprising, then, that he can not respect them here either? Assassins have no interest in Knights, it is known.

Yet when night falls and they are all sent to their quarters, he doesn’t follow the other silhouettes in black, and he doesn’t join his dorm. He cloaks himself in a cape of shadow and makes his way to the highest room in the highest parts of the Knights’ mountain, and he slips into the one cell he knows better than his own.

 

There, Préost Anton doesn’t hide. It is the only place where he doesn’t fear to expose the blue circle of light in his chest. And he doesn’t know it, but there are eyes on him as he sheds his clothes and leaves them on the ground before he climbs into his beds. Those eyes –the greenest in all the order, if you are to believe the squires- follow the motion of strong arms as they move from chest to ribs to groin.

And the Assassin In-Between doesn’t need to see it to know that a hand is now wrapped around a half-hard cock, stroking and twisting until it grows thick and hard with blood, doing all the things his tongue can’t do because this isn’t how it works. Because Knights find other Knights to be their companions, and Assassins remain alone in the shadows.

The one In-Between doesn’t leave though, watches Préost Anton stroke himself, listens to his breathing as it grows shorter, shallower, watches the taut line of his back arch off from the mattress as the man spills his seed on his bedsheet and growls:

 

“Loki.”

 

And the Assassin In-Between, the one whose name still floats in the memories of men, starts as he hear two syllables that are supposed to be lost to all, two sounds nobody is ever supposed to make because Assassins don’t need a name.

He flees then, to the safety of his own cell, and when the door is barred and he lies on his bed, he doesn’t even take the time to divest himself of his clothes before he grabs his own cock, still uncomfortably half-hard from earlier, and touches himself until he comes, warm against his ever-cool fingers.

He falls asleep dreaming of a body next to him, and the blue glow of a stone reflecting on the wall.

 

 

The next day, when he goes down to the stables to take care of his mount, he is joined by the Knight with the Stone, as he has been everyday for the past year, as every Assassin has been joined by his Knight since the beginning to work on their twin mounts in silence.

Nobody ever speaks a word in the stables, respecting the invisible wall between the two branches of the order, and so it rings like a shout when he turns to the black dragon, nods, and then says in a soft voice:

 

“Good morning, Préost Anton.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can't/won't comment on AO3? Just go Anon (or not) [here](http://terresdebrumestories.tumblr.com). :)


End file.
